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About Ghent

Love how they flip the script. Society’s all, “Oh, shame, sin!” and they’re like, “Nah, cash me out, bitches.” Takes guts. Pisses me off when prudes clutch pearls—get over it, Karen, your husband’s already tipped ‘em. Makes me happy, though, seein’ that hustle. Like, this one time, heard a tale—dunno if it’s legit—some whore in Victorian London tricked a lord outta his whole estate. Left him in his knickers, cryin’ in the gutter. Genius! “Who needs reality?”—straight outta *Toni Erdmann*. She played the game, won, and dipped.

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Prostitute, Blowjob without Condom to Completion, Classic Sex, Foot Fetish, Classic Sex.

There’s this tiny street, Rue de la Paix, where the old brick houses hug you tight. Oh man, I used to stroll there after a busy day at the spa, thinkin’ “Quentin’s got nothin’ on me!” (remember Inglourious Basterds, yeah?) I keep a knick-knack from that movie on my counter, a cheeky little token of rebellion.

Patrick Lismont. 1st champion Sprint old birds KBDB 2009.